


Personal Effects

by pigeonfluff



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Fort Briggs, Gentleness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 23:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14223819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonfluff/pseuds/pigeonfluff
Summary: The army is fond of telling them that "they didn't come in their kit", and all that matters is their duty. But everyone, even the hardest General, has a few personal effects, and everyone has a reason to fight.





	Personal Effects

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick and sweet livmiles oneshot, written to try and get into their heads a bit, and flesh out some of my headcanons. This is set sometime after the Ishvallan War, and before they've met Buccaneer, not long after they've established their relationship officially.

It was the little things, Miles thought, that really gave his General away. Ever since the academy, it had been drilled into their heads, “They didn’t come in your kit!” Who “they” were didn’t matter. Mother, father, siblings, lovers, friends, none of them mattered in the field.  
And at Briggs, the saying meant double. There was no time for pining away over those you couldn’t see, couldn’t be with. Spend too much time in daydreams, and you’d be dead.

The General’s office was barren. There were the standard issue filing cabinets and office supplies, her personal paperwork, and stationary. The only hint of it being used were the Maps that covered the walls, showing Amestris and then the North in the greatest detail money could buy. This was the space she presented to outsiders.

There were few the General considered insiders. Miles counted himself lucky to be one. At first glance, her private quarters were just as barren as her office, just as bleak as Briggs Mountain in the winter, fitting of the Ice Queen, the Northern Wall who stood firm against the harsh and violent Drachman Winds. Her only clothes at the fort were uniforms, or training gear. There were no decorations on the wall, aside from the wall hangers where her sword rested when not at her side. The bedding was all standard issue, with the exception of the pillows. It always made him grin, her excuses for them.  
“My time to sleep is limited at best. It is only practical that I ensure my best rest. And those rocks they call pillows are useless.”

No, a surface inspection revealed nothing besides her love of soft pillows. Which was why Miles had been shocked to find the neatly framed linen in the drawer of the regulation bureau. It was stitched finely with colourful silks, obviously made with patience and care. A sampler, in the traditional Amestrian style, little crosses forming words:

“In Commemoration of Olivier Mira Armstrong’s promotion to the rank of Brigadier General, and her command of Fort Briggs.”

The motifs were indeed, representative of their cold Northern lives. Bears, snowflakes and tanks danced on the fabric, bordered with Armstrong Roses and delicate lattices. Contradictions, harmonious discord.  
He had stood, dumbfounded, for long enough for his general to grow impatient.  
“Don’t tell me you’ve never used a condom before Major…”  
“Ah! That’s… That’s not the issue General, sir.”  
“Then what is? I don’t have time for foolishness.”  
He hesitated, for a moment, before pulling the sampler out. “I didn’t know you embroidered.”  
Her face was unreadable for a few long moments, scrutinising him. “I don’t.”  
He must have looked confused, because she rose, and took the sampler from him. When she looked at it, her face softened, icey countenance melted into something tender and affectionate.  
“My youngest sister’s work. She’s shy, and ladylike, and sweet. Father and Mother… didn’t want me to influence her unduly, but she insisted…” She set the piece down, and opened the drawer from where it had come from. Miles expected her to replace it, and drag him back to the bed, back into the place where they were vulnerable yet comfortable, away from this new territory that he had to admit was intriguing, but frightening for its newness. And yet she was pulling more from the drawer, first, a simple drawing, an illustration of the Briggs mountains.  
“My brother did this. He’s a coward, and a fool, but… he captured it well.”  
Miles nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist as she once again pulled an artifact from the drawer. This time, it was a small wooden box. She opened it delicately, almost as if she was afraid, The brooch within was elegant, displaying a pair of crossed swords beneath a heraldic rose. “The Armstrong family crest. Father wanted to give it to Alex, but I am the eldest.”  
Her voice was tinged with pain, a hurt that Miles suspected she had buried long ago.  
“General…”  
“Olivier.”  
“Why do you keep them…?”  
She paused, sinking into his arms, letting his skin warm her once again.  
“Because of this.” Another small wooden box from the drawer. This one she handled with care, reverence. The medal inside gleamed, iconic. Amestris’ highest military honor, for valor and distinguished service.  
“My grandfather's. He.. he’s the one who pushed father to let me fence. He told me I had the makings of a commander.” Her eyes were closed now, a quiet reverie settling over them.  
“It seems he was right.” A soft kiss met her cheek. “I’m sure he is honored by you.”  
“He passed, before I left for the Academy.”  
There was nothing to be said. Miles understood all too well the pain of a simple letter, simple words that could never be held back. But in this moment, there was nothing more to be said.  
Quietly, carefully, she replaced her personal effects, the only connection to her family and her past.  
Miles pulled her back to the bed, strength and warmth and shelter against the bitter winds within.  
“A wise man once told me, that we fight for those who live within us.”  
The smile returned to her face, still sad, but gentle as she brushed his hair out of his eyes.  
“Thank you, Miles.”  
“There’s no need for that, Olivier.” Once again, their lips found each other, familiar, tentative, strong.  
No, they didn’t come in their kits. The army left no room for that. But the army had no command of their hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are more than welcome <3
> 
> Definitely not written as an excuse to design a sampler.... haha, nope!


End file.
